


Liberal Pandemic Conspiracy

by orphan_account



Category: South Park
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-10-11
Updated: 2012-10-11
Packaged: 2017-11-16 02:22:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,322
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/534423
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Cartman doesn't know why the government won't stay out of his body.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Liberal Pandemic Conspiracy

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Shiney](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=Shiney).



Cartman barrelled down the hallway in a furious panic, his outraged cries of, “No! No! This is _bullshit_ ,” echoing behind him. 

Mr. Mackey stood outside the gym’s double doors and sighed. “Now, Eric. I think you’re being a tad bit dramatic here.” 

Cartman craned his neck back to gape at him affrontedly. “Fuck you, Mackey,” he huffed, still running. “This is a violation of my civil rights!” Cartman turned the corner at the end of the hallway, struggling to put as much distance behind himself as possible. “Keep your government out of my body!” 

Cartman was too busy keeping an eye on the menace behind him to notice the threat in front. He promptly thudded into a wall of soft resistance and ricocheted backwards, landing on his tailbone. He winced and looked up, only to find a starched white uniform housing an ample bosom hovering overhead, with an ample vestigial growth peering down at him from over the side. He looked around frantically, only to realize he was just outside the nurse’s office. _Oh no. Oh God, no._

“Really, Eric. Your mother already signed the papers,” she said. 

He scrambled backwards in an awkward crab walk before hoisting himself up to run back in the opposite direction. “No!” he cried out. “It’s my body, my choice,” he wailed, tears pricking at his eyes. 

He burst through he doors of the cafeteria, hoping the crowd of kids just pouring in now for lunch would offer enough cover. He saw Craig approaching their usual table with his tray, Kenny already seated across from him with his bag lunch. 

“Craig!” Cartman shouted hoarsely as he hustled over to him. “Craig, oh thank God you’re here. Craig, you have to save me.” 

Craig spared him a puzzled glance as he made himself comfortable on the cafeteria bench. “But I don’t even like you,” he said. 

“What?” Cartman shouted, face contorting in fury. “Fuck you, Craig. You’re a fucking asshole.” 

Craig shrugged. “Okay,” he said, and ate a tater tot. 

Cartman looked desperately at Kenny across the table. “Kenny? Please,” he begged. “You’re my best friend, Kenny, don’t be a cocksucking asshole like Craig here. Help me.” 

Kenny raised his eyebrows. “Don’t you think you’re being kind of dramatic about this?” he asked. 

“Fuck you, Kenny. I fucking hate you,” he spat out, and grabbed a fistful of Craig’s tater tots before stomping off toward the cafeteria door. 

“Hey,” Craig said. 

“I fucking hate all you guys,” Cartman called out through a mouthful of tots and barrelled back out through the cafeteria entrance. 

He looked frantically around the hallway, trying to figure out his next move. He saw Principal Victoria rounding the far corner of the hallway looking pissed off. Cartman hightailed it into the nearest boys’ bathroom and darted into the first open stall. 

He locked the door, then fumbled in his pocket for a moment before pulling out his phone. He punched in the number frantically, too distraught to even scroll through his contacts for a number he had memorized. 

“Hello?” he shouted frantically as soon as he heard the call connect. 

“Hello? Eric?” He could hear the edge of alarm in her voice. He found it somewhat gratifying. 

“Mom!” he choked out, half sobbing. “Oh, Mom, you have to help me.” 

“Eric, what’s wrong?” she asked, the tension in her voice evident all the way through the cell connection. 

He drew in a deep breath and let it out shakily. “Oh, Mom, it’s awful. You wouldn’t believe what these goddamn communists are trying to do to us at this school.” 

“Eric,” she barked sharply. “ _What_ is going on?” 

He let a little bit of his frightened tremor leak out into his voice as he explained, “Mom, they rounded us up like animals and herded the whole class into some makeshift death camp they’d jury rigged in the back of the gym, and, and the principal was there, and the nurse, and, oh God, Mom, they wanted to _put things in us_ —” here he broke off, too overcome with emotion momentarily to continue. 

A hiss of static burst into his ear as his mother sighed noisily into the receiver. “For God’s sake, Eric, you’re being ridiculous. I already signed the form. Now get off the phone and go do what the poor nurse tells you to do.” 

“But mom,” he wailed pitifully. “Mom, you don’t understand. This is wrong. It’s inhumane. It’s,” he frowned and glanced at his phone’s display, then let out a howl of frustration when he realized the call had ended fifteen seconds ago. 

He shoved his phone back into his pocket and leaned his head against the cool metal of the stall door. Hot tears were actually starting to leak out from around his tightly clenched eyelids. He sniffled pathetically and listened to the sound of somebody running water at the sink. 

Whoever it was they were evidently very invested in thorough hand hygiene, because Cartman had time not only to contain his miserable outburst but also to scrub his cheeks dry and wipe his nose on his sleeve before he heard the sink shut off. Cartman stepped cautiously out of the stall, then froze in dismay. 

“Oh,” Butters looked over at him in surprise, then smiled cheerfully. “Hi, Eric!” 

Cartman scowled and walked over to the row of sinks. “Butters,” he nodded in greeting. Cartman slammed down on the hot tap and let the tepid water run over his wrists, less out of a desire to clean them than out of a need to have something to do. 

Butters wadded up the handful of paper towel he was using to dry his hands and turned to toss it in the trash. That was when Cartman saw it — a flash of pink just under the edge of Butters’ shirt sleeve. 

“Butters,” Cartman said, taking a step toward him. “What the fuck is that?” he asked. 

“Huh?” Butters asked, and let his fingers trace the line of Cartman’s stare to skirt along his left deltoid. They brushed something and Butters’ face lit up. “Oh, this?” he asked. 

Cartman scowled harder at him. “Yes, asshole, that,” he ground out when it became apparent that Butters was actually politely waiting for him to answer. 

“The nurse let me pick out a Hello Kitty bandaid,” Butters declared happily, then hiked his shirt sleeve up over his shoulder and took a step closer to Cartman. “See?” he asked. 

Cartman wiped his hands on his pants and peered closely at Butters arm. “Butters,” he said very seriously. 

“Yes, Eric?” Butters asked. 

“You look like a faggot,” Cartman stated flatly. 

“Oh.” Butters removed his hand from his shoulder, letting his sleeve fall back down to partially obscure his gay bandaid. “Well, gee, Eric,” he said, starting to fidget. “I mean. You look an awful lot like a faggot yourself right now.” 

The edges of Cartman’s vision went gray. Butters was fixing him with a look that was probably supposed to be stern, his bottom lip puffing out distractingly in an aggrieved pout. Cartman didn’t notice he’d taken two steps back in horror until he barked his elbow on the edge of the far sink. “What,” he hissed at him. 

“What with crying in the bathroom over a little flu shot and all,” Butters continued, unperturbed. 

Cartman gaped angrily at him for a moment or two. “Butters,” he said, the single word uttered like a statement of furious finality. 

“Yeah, Eric?” Butters answered, frowning slightly. He stood his ground next to the paper towel dispenser, patiently waiting for Cartman to continue. 

Cartman frowned and watched the furrow between Butters’ eyebrows grow deeper. The silence was beginning to grow uncomfortable. 

Just then the bathroom door burst open with foreceful convenience. The ensuing bang echoed over the urinals and down through the stalls. Butters’ eyes widened in alarm. “Oh, God,” he shouted, flailing slightly. “Ma’am — this is the boys’ room!” 

Cartman felt the hairs on the back of his neck start to rise and the pit of his stomach start to drop. 

“Eric. _Cartman_.” The principal sounded hoarse and out of breath. Cartman heard the sound of her sensible one inch heels clacking angrily against the tile floor and foresaw his own doom. 

He made one last desperate play for survival and darted behind Butters, throwing his arms around his chest in an attempt to use him as a tiny human shield. “Oof,” Butters said, but made no attempt to escape. Cartman was pitifully grateful. 

“Oh, for —” she cut herself off, letting her exclamation terminate in a huff of frustrated air. She ran her fingers through her hair, collecting herself. “Eric,” she began again in a reasonable, adult tone of voice, and took a slow, non-threatening step toward him. 

“Stay back,” Cartman shouted frantically from behind Butters’ ear, and felt him wince. 

Principal Victoria’s left eye started to twitch, but she otherwise remained outwardly calm. She took another slow step to the side, hoping that a sideways approach would seem less threatening. Cartman kept rotating away from her though, Butters clamped tightly against his chest as protection. She let out a groan of frustration before deciding to switch tactics. 

“Butters,” she said, her voice a layer of calm pasted over an immense sucking hole of irritation. 

“Uh,” he said, looking increasingly concerned. “Yes, ma’am?” 

“Could you please come with me to the gym?” she asked. 

“Well, sure, I guess,” he answered. Cartman looked like he was moments away from soiling himself, but he still remained attached as Butters took one after another halting step toward the door. Cartman shuffled along behind him, finally faced with the inevitable fact that he was out of options, yet not quite ready to let go. 

Principal Victoria held the bathroom door open for them, then escorted them slowly through the hallways, Butters dragging Cartman behind him like some sort of miserable, overweight tumor. They made their slow, plodding way down to the makeshift clinic that was set up in the gym. Cartman took his seat on one of the collapsable cots without protest, but kept both hands clamped hard over Butters’ wrist and refused to release him. 

“Thank you, Butters,” Principal Victoria said in her best tone of dismissal. “You can run along back to class now.” 

“No!” Cartman shouted, pulling Butters close again. All eyes in the vicinity turned to him. Cartman surprisingly had the good grace to at least look embarrassed, but he still didn’t let go. “Uh,” he said, then cleared his throat. “Butters can’t leave yet.” 

The nurse looked at Principal Victoria and shrugged. “It’s okay with me,” she said. 

“Oh, all right, fine,” the principal responded, throwing her arms up and walking back out the door. “Do whatever the hell you want with him,” she said. “I’ll be in my office.” 

Butters patted patted Cartman’s thigh with the hand he still had free use of. “It’s all right, Eric,” he said. “I used to be real scared of needles, too, when I was little. But they don’t hurt too bad if you just relax.” 

“Shut up, Butters,” Cartman said, his face turned away to stare intently at the corner of the cot he was sitting on. “I’m not scared of needles. I just,” he paused and shifted in his seat, considering for a moment, “I just don’t like how all these fucking communists who are running this school can go ahead and just decide that they get to give me some shot that for all I know is gonna give me ass burgers or AIDS or worse.” 

Butters crinkled his forehead at him. “You mean, like, super AIDS?” he asked. 

Cartman looked back at Butters again, relieved. “Yes! Like super AIDS.” He let go of Butters’ wrist with one arm to gesture expansively. “Fucking Obama.” 

“Right,” Butters agreed, nodding pleasantly while he slid his hand a little further out of Cartman’s relaxed grip. Cartman caught Butters’ hand in his own as it slid past, and held on for dear life. “But, you know,” Butters added, “you get to pick out a bandaid once you’re done.” 

“Thats right,” chirped the nurse. She approached Cartman’s cot and set down her clipboard and a small plastic basket which contained various supplies including needles, syringes, alcohol swabs, and an assortment of bandaids. “I have some pretty cool ones here. There’s SpongeBob, Batman, Avengers, um, classic beige,” she rattled off, flipping through her collection. 

“Ooh,” Butters perked up. “Is that a Keroppi?” he asked. 

She held it up, smiling. “It is,” she answered. 

Butters looked at Cartman seriously. “That one will make you look pretty tough,” he said. 

Cartman closed his eyes as the nurse prepared his injection. “I’ll take the Keroppi, please.” 

“Okay,” she said, and rolled up his shirt sleeve. Cartman jumped pretty bad when she swabbed his arm with alcohol, digging his nails into Butters’ palm. The injection itself, though, he hardly noticed until she was slapping his bandaid on. “All set,” she said cheerfully. “Now why don’t you boys run on back to class?” 

Cartman climbed down off the cot one-handed. “Let’s go, Butters.” 

“I think we missed lunch,” Butters pointed out sadly. 

Cartman frowned. “Well it’s not my fault if the liberal fascists running this place would rather imprison us here against our will than let two growing boys have enough time to get the adequate nutrition they need,” he said, dragging Butters out of the gym. “Like I said. Fucking Obama, man. It’s all just one big liberal conspiracy, I’m telling you, Butters,” he continued. 

“Oh, uh, right, of course,” Butters agreed, swinging their intertwined hands slightly as they walked. 

“I’m seriously, Butters. This country is going to hell in an environmentally friendly, universal healthcare providing, gay married hand basket,” Cartman said with an air of great import, and held Butters’ hand all the way through their walk down the mostly deserted hallways until they reached the cafeteria door. 

**Author's Note:**

> The flu shot is an inactivated virus and cannot possibly give you the flu. Or ass burgers. Or super AIDS. So everyone should get the flu shot, yes everyone, I mean everyone, even you — unless of course you are allergic in which case no please don’t.


End file.
